


Jigsaw

by JestersTear



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Meme, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Romance, kmeme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-10
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-05 03:31:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/401979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JestersTear/pseuds/JestersTear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris and Anders have bonded over their shared unrequitted love for Hawke, and have been involved in a sexual relationship for almost a year when Anders is thought to be dead. The experience sheds new light on old feelings, but is it too late?<br/>Response to kink meme prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He hadn't known how deeply he cared until it was too late. He'd had feelings for Hawke for a year, but the other warrior hadn't been interested, and Fenris had learned to live with them, coexist with them in such a way that they became a part of him, barely hurting anymore. He'd watched the mage's attempts at flirting with Hawke go similarly unrewarded and had been viciously glad for it at the time, that the abomination would also be denied what they both wanted, that, if Hawke wasn't his, then it would at least be because he was holding out for someone _better_. Then, one night, he'd bumped into the healer in Hightown and hadn't resisted baiting him, asking him if he was coming from the Amell estate, and had he had better luck this time? It wasn't as much hatred for the apostate as it was self-loathing, a need to ask all the questions that he knew the answers to might hurt, a need to bury every bit of pain beneath a veneer of pettiness and spite so he wouldn't have to examine it too closely, a hope for something to mask the loneliness that threatened to overwhelm him some nights, and conflict was the only thing he knew he was able to easily inspire. The other man had been in rare form that night, hadn't been up for playing their usual game, and had surprised him with his lack of vitriol, with his honest answer, calm demeanour and piercing eyes. Yes, he'd been at the estate, and no, he hadn't had any luck, good or otherwise, because he had stopped trying some time ago. And didn't Fenris tire of the pointless fights they had with each other when they were so similar to one another in the end? He had bristled at the perceived insult and had said so, that he would never be similar to a _mage_. The healer's rebuke had been almost gentle. Runaway slave from Tevinter, runaway Grey Warden mage from Ferelden; living in a dilapidated mansion that belonged to another, living in a rundown Darktown hovel that passed for a clinic; a sister who had betrayed him for a magister's favour, a father who had abandoned him to Chantry prejudice; worldly possessions that could fit into a backpack, if one discounted the staff and sword – their _weapons_ their largest possession; pining for Hawke; _lonely_. Shouldn't they stop trying to find pain in each other when everything else already hurt them so much? He'd been slack jawed, robbed of the satisfaction of arguing and left feeling strangely cheated. Voice almost unrecognisable he had asked what the mage suggested they do, if they were to stop fighting; the healer had retorted they might twist their common interest in Hawke into an entirely unexpected way of combating their shared loneliness. He had meant to refuse, of course, but by then he had accepted already, and as they were falling into bed together – his, by mere virtue of being the closest, but virtue had no place here – he could not help but feel glad for the warm body next to his, that had banished the pain for an hour. His pride would not have let him ask for more, but the mage hadn’t been similarly afflicted and had implied, just as he was leaving, that he would welcome other moments of… shared loneliness.

They had discretely carried on their tryst for the better part of a year. Sometimes they’d see each other three times in the same week, others only once in one month. Fenris could not have pinpointed when it had changed, when he had stopped thinking of the healer as merely a convenient willing body and had started seeing him as _Anders_. He had fooled himself into not seeing it because to do anything else was to admit he had backed himself onto the edge of a cliff this time, rather than the simple corner he had when he had fallen for Hawke, and all that awaited him was a plunge into further unimaginable pain. He had been content for a time, purposely blind to how eagerly he anticipated the next time he would get to see the healer, only to turn around and act as aloof as he possibly could during the actual encounter, a vain attempt to mask all the feelings he was certain he couldn’t possibly be harbouring. Reaching inside himself for the feelings for Hawke he had put away, he’d been startled to find there were none.

They had been together only the night before, and Anders’ touch still lingered in his memory, where it would never again be felt in reality. _Slavers_. They had managed to ruin even this. They’d been fighting _slavers_ , and Anders was as inflamed in the presence of slavers as he was in the presence of Templars. Varric had told them to wait, that there were traps in those tunnels, but his lover had disregarded the shouted command in favour of running after a runaway slaver despite the fact that the rogue was busy disarming one of those very traps. Fenris’ first instinct had been to follow, but he had resisted – surely if the mage wanted to be reckless he shouldn’t enable him by following him. Then the ceiling had caved, and if he thought the cave-in was impossibly loud, that Anders’ scream had echoed in his ears, it was nothing compared to how deafening the following silence was. They had shouted for the healer, Fenris had attempted to phase through the rocks despite knowing it would not work, that his ability only extended to armour and flesh, and then he had started moving the rocks with his gauntleted hands, Hawke and Varric helping him dig even though no answer was forthcoming; they had tried everything. Eventually Varric had left them both there to return to Kirkwall for food, water and hired hands. The following day they had two dozen men outside the cave, all ready to help but unable to fit in the narrow space, and they took turns digging so that no minute was wasted. After twenty-four hours with no answer Fenris had to consider the possibility that Anders hadn’t survived. Then he had started silently praying even as his hands continued to claw at the rocks. Dear Maker, if only Anders were alive, he’d do anything for the healer to be alive. There was no price he wasn’t willing to pay, dear Maker, _please_ let him be alive. He’d give his sword arm, he’d give _both_ arms and be glad for it, anything and everything the Maker saw fit to charge him for this deal he’d accept with no complaint. He was dimly aware that he was bargaining with the Maker in his mind as if He were a simple demon, but he didn’t know how else to pray. He knew he was only an elf, a former slave whose word meant nothing, a killer with nothing to offer, but Anders was a healer, dear Maker, wasn’t he worth saving?

A further day after that he had passed out against the rocks, had been carried to the outside of the cave by Aveline, to eat and rest for the first time since this ordeal had started. He hadn’t wanted to, but she had pointed out he was not as fast as the other men who had rested and eaten, and that his stubbornness was hampering their efforts, rather than aiding in Anders’ rescue. He had recognised the truth in her words and gone to sleep reluctantly, still thinking up ways of repaying the Maker if only He would keep Anders safe. The day after that they were nearing the end of the rock pile, only two or three more hours and they would be able to _see_ , but his traitorous body was slowing down again, and again there were better rested men ready to take his place. He had closed his eyes for only a minute, but when he opened them again it was nearing sundown and there were tears in Isabela’s eyes. They had managed to get to the other side as he slept – the body had been horribly mangled and was already on its way back to Kirkwall for burial, his staff all but shattered under a falling rock. He had hated her for it, even though she couldn’t possibly have known that he had loved the mage, that he had wanted to say his goodbyes. Only now that it meant nothing at all could admit it to himself – he _loved_ Anders as he had never loved Hawke. If only he had realised it before, he could have tried to make every moment last, could have tried to savour each one, to make it count. Could have tried to commit to memory every line on his lover’s body so he would never forget. He’d have gladly traded places with the mage, would have done anything to keep him safe, but his may-have-beens and would-bes were as worthless as he was.

The paid workers and the body had gone on ahead with Sebastian, who was going to set up a vigil – Anders would have _hated_ that, to have his casket, closed or not, displayed in the Chantry he abhorred, but no one even knew they had been lovers, he hadn’t the flimsiest claim to the body himself –, but the rest of his companions had stayed behind to wait for him. It was a subdued group that made its way through the Wounded Coast, Fenris’ eyes burning with tears he would not shed until he was alone. In his mind he could picture Anders so clearly, his reddish blonde hair, his rueful smile, his ridiculous feathers that were somehow endearing, the ponytail he loved to pull apart, and his _eyes_ , his warm piercing eyes… it was almost as if he were actually seeing him, hair dishevelled glinting in the rapidly disappearing sunlight, running towards them in torn shirtsleeves with the jacket nowhere in sight, out of breath but still running, and –

“Blondie?” Varric stared, looking half as stunned as Fenris felt.

“Can someone explain to me how you lot managed to mistake a slaver’s body for mine just on account of a minced face, blonde hair and my _jacket_? I’d have been terribly put out if he’d have been buried under my name, I’ll let you know. And how is it that between the Champion of Kirkwall, the Best Storyteller in Thedas and the Pirate Queen of the Ages no one thought to check if there was another exit to that never-ending cave? I was in Kirkwall – in bloody Kirkwall after days spent navigating that stupid maze, looking forward to heading straight to bed as soon as I managed to get to the clinic, thank you very much – when Lirene tells me you’re hiring workers to save me by the dozen. So, naturally, instead of sleeping – and I _insist_ , I need my sleep – I’m forced to _run_ here to tell the lot of you that rumours of my demise have been greatly exaggerated. I thought Sebastian was going to exorcise me back there! Well? Are you all going to stand there gaping at me like fish, or are we going to head back so I can get some sleep?”

Anders was alive. He was _alive_ , dear Maker, _thank you_ , and Fenris’ entire body nearly shook with a relief so deep that it overwhelmed even his happiness at the fact. He didn’t want to be silent anymore, he wanted to confess to Anders and damn the consequences, his feet were already moving – but Hawke had gotten there first – “Maker, Anders, I thought I’d lost you!” – and then Hawke was _kissing_ Anders, Isabella doing catcalls, and all Fenris could do was watch. So this was the price. The Maker had spared Anders, but Fenris would not even get to say goodbye. Still. Anders was _alive_. He’d pay it gladly and never complain – how could he complain when the man he loved was not only alive but finally happy with the one he truly loved? Fenris had been a welcome distraction, someone to bond with over Hawke’s friendly indifference, but now Hawke was anything but indifferent to Anders, and the mage deserved to have his love reciprocated. Fenris was glad for the outcome. His feet carried him away from the joyful group, back to the City of Chains and the ruin he called home. _Thank you, Maker. It is enough._


	2. Chapter 2

He’d been home not even an hour, had barely had the time to take off his gauntlets, bathe and change into a tunic when Anders dropped by, freshly bathed himself, lips swollen by Hawke’s kisses, wearing Hawke’s clothes, and Fenris might have been glad for him but it didn’t mean that seeing the evidence of what he’d never again have – of what he’d never _had_ , if he were to include the healer’s feelings in his statement – didn’t hurt. Had Anders just finished making love to Hawke? No matter. He would have to be careful not to show his own feelings now that he was aware of them. Anders had nearly died – Fenris would not taint his happiness with unwelcome revelations. His voice sounded almost normal.

“Anders. What brings you here?”

What the hell was wrong with him? The mage had nearly _died_ and he was making small talk? The healer stared wide-eyed.

“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”

“No, I… I’m sorry. I am glad you are not dead.” _I said I’d give anything, I said I’d give everything, and everything was what He took. You have Hawke – what can you possibly want from me?_

“I’m rather glad myself.”

“May I ask what brings you here now, or do I still risk offending?”

Something vicious seemed to pass through Anders’ eyes.

 “Well, Hawke’s is just next door.”

A punch to the gut, a stab to the heart, a slap on his face. Anders’ words were all that and more. But he was _alive_. And Fenris was glad.

“A fact my eardrums are painfully reminded of every time Sandal attempts a new enchantment.”

Anders snorted and Fenris’ heart clenched. His kneecaps hurt with the effort he was making not to walk towards the man he loved – it had never been this hard with Hawke.

“Yes, well he’s gone for a couple of hours, he said he’d get me a staff, and I thought I’d come here while I waited, to see if I could understand why even _Sebastian_ was glad to see me and yet you couldn’t be arsed to stay around long enough to say welcome back from the dead.”

Fenris looked away. “Again, I am sorry I offended. It was not my intention.”

“So why didn’t you stay?”

His heart was breaking all over again. He had to keep telling himself that he could be mourning Anders’ loss in a far more real sense to remember that he was glad for this outcome. He exhaled softly as he faced the man he loved – nothing but the truth would make the healer leave, he suspected.

“There was nothing there for me. _Hawke_ was kissing you. I left. Must I make it clearer?”

Anders nodded once, sharply, as if something had been confirmed for him and seemed to deflate, his eyes dulled with something the warrior couldn’t identify.

“You were jealous. I figured as much, but I needed to be sure. I’ll go now.”

To have all that he was feeling reduced to an unflattering “you were jealous” only amplified his pain, and for a moment he forgot he was glad and lashed out at Anders’ retreating back.

“I thought you were different, but you can be as cruel as any Tevinter magister. Bravo, Anders, you’ve managed to wound.”

Anders’ head turned and he seemed poised to attack, but with one look all the fight left him and he shook his head, his smile tight and pained.

“But I’m not. Cruel, I mean. You’re welcome to him, you know? I don’t want him, I was as surprised as you were by that kiss. I told him already, and you know Hawke, he’ll get over it soon enough. You’ll get your chance then, Fenris.”

He didn’t understand, it didn’t make sense. He should probably leave well enough alone, but Anders was leaving again and he _needed_ to understand, to figure out why it was that this thing that meant more to him than any other was ending if his lover wasn’t running straight into Hawke’s arms. While he was left there stunned – how could Anders think it was _Hawke_ he was still pining for? – the other man was already on the street and he had to run to catch him, a hand reaching out to grab the healer’s arm and give him the first tangible evidence that he was solid and real. He pinned Anders to the wall, close as lovers, right there in the middle of the street, in the middle of the night. He didn’t care that anyone could see his pain, he was far past that point.

“ _Why?_ Why then, are you leaving?”

Anders didn’t even look surprised, merely determined.

“I thought I was going to die.  By the end of that cave I was so thirsty I was coughing up dirt, no one had come looking for me and I was farther from Kirkwall than when I had started. And then you were so damned jealous that I’m guessing you’re sorry I turned out to be alive after all - It taught me something about self-preservation.”

“Don’t say that – do not _dare_. I was _never_ sorry that you were alive. There was nothing I would not have traded for your safety.”

The healer’s expression softened.

“ _Oh._ Thank you. That… that means something.” The arm that wasn’t held in a fierce grasp came up and fingers touched his cheek lightly and oh-so-tenderly. Fenris closed his eyes against the touch and wished desperately that he could make the healer stay, but he was _alive_ and it was _enough_. He had to keep reminding himself lest he forget. “I’m being an arse. We both knew what this was getting into it, it’s not fair of me to act as if you’ve done my virtue irreparable harm when I instigated it in the first place. I meant what I said, you’ll get your chance. Hawke will move on soon enough, and I won’t stand in your way.”

Fenris’ eyes snapped open, but Anders was looking through him, not at him.

“I don’t _want_ Hawke.”

“We already established that you do – is now really the time to start lying, after you’ve all but admitted you were jealous?”

“Not of _you_!”

Anders sucked in a breath, bewildered, eyes darting to Fenris’, disbelieving. In the end all he could do was form a single word.

“… _Hawke_?”

Fenris had nowhere to hide and nothing to lose, so he might as well admit it.

“I… yes. Hawke.”

Was that… it couldn’t be, the moonlight was playing tricks with him. For a moment he’d thought he’d seen joy in the other man’s eyes. Not satisfaction, but genuine _joy_. It couldn’t be, surely? Anders’ words were coming out in a rush.

“Fenris, I thought… When I was in that cave all that got me through it were thoughts of _you_. I wanted to get out to see _you_. I was so tired by the time I made it back to Kirkwall, I’ve had no sleep except for the hours that I collapsed on the cave’s floor every now and then, and then you weren’t home, Lirene offered to go and tell all of you that I wasn’t dead, but I wanted to see _you_.  I had all these stupid romantic ideas that you’d be so happy to see me alive that you’d just run to meet me, that you wouldn’t care that the others were watching, that it would _mean_ something, and I knew I shouldn’t be fantasising but I couldn’t help it, all the way from Kirkwall back to the Wounded Coast, and then I got there and Hawke was the one to kiss me, and you turned your back as if you resented me for having lived, as if you thought I was taking Hawke from you, and it was like dying all over again only worse because there were no more fantasies to sustain me, and I love you, but I can’t keep coming back if I’m only a substitute for–”

Hawke’s name was swallowed up by Fenris’ lips, crashing down on the healer’s the moment the words “I love you” had penetrated through the thick fog of pain that had enveloped his brain since the cave-in. He let go of Anders’ arm to wrap both of his own around him, and the healer responded in kind, melting into him, fitting into his embrace so perfectly... After a few minutes he drew back ever so slightly and rested his forehead on his lover’s, heart still hammering erratically in his chest. He let out an incredulous laugh, happy and relieved all at once. His teasing tone belied his otherwise harsh words.

“You have some nerve, mage, coming here wearing his clothes after you’ve fucked him and then accusing me of being the one to want him.” It didn’t really matter to him, though, that Anders had shared Hawke’s bed, not if that had helped him realise it was Fenris he wanted. It was Anders’ turn to laugh.

“Oh, Maker, Fenris, I didn’t! I can see how this looks now, but all I did was take a bath and borrow clothes – I didn’t want to show up on your doorstep smelling of grime and sweat. Can I plead temporary insanity on account of exhaustion and heartache, that I didn’t even think I’d make it worse?”

 _Oh_. It seemed it had mattered more than he’d thought, if he could feel this thankful that it hadn’t happened.

“I love you,” he blurted out, not wanting to start fearing the words again. When he’d thought the mage dead he’d have given anything to be able to tell him, he wouldn’t let fear get in the way of that now. Anders’ eyes widened almost comically in the moonlight at his declaration. “I thought… first I thought you’d died, and then when Hawke kissed you I thought that was the price the Maker had set.”

“The _what_ now?”

“I promised the Maker anything if we found you alive. I thought that was the price I had to pay to have you alive, seeing you with Hawke.”

“You _bargained_ for my life with the _Maker_?”

“… I didn’t know what else to do.”

Anders kissed him again, pulled him impossibly closer against him, squishing himself willingly between Fenris and wall. It was some time before they came up for air.

“You do realise this means you’re stuck with me, don’t you? I’m not known for letting gorgeous elves who profess their love for me when I happen to be in love with them just walk away.”

“Not known for it? Should I take it that it happens often to you then?”

“Just this once. There’s no need for more than once.”

Whatever more they were planning on saying was interrupted.

“Maker, will you two go inside? I’ve had to murder about two dozen bandits who wanted to get too close, my arms are getting tired!”

 _Hawke_. They sprung apart guiltily, not wanting to hurt the warrior by rubbing their happiness in his face, but he was grinning as if he’d just pulled off the most incredible stunt.

“I wish you had bathed before _I_ had to kiss you, Anders, you stunk. Still, it got the job done, didn’t it?”

“Excuse me?”

“The two of you were dancing around each other for months, it was getting nauseating! You can’t blame me for wanting to do something! Besides, it worked. Now if you could stop exploring each other’s throats outside at night while there are at least a few crooks I haven’t had to kill yet? I’m certain the local crime syndicates would be thankful. They might even send flowers.”

“You kissed me on purpose? You _knew_?”

“Of course I knew, I _live_ here! I’ve seen the both of you pretend what you have is about me for months on end, but you weren’t going to do anything about it, neither one of you, even after this reckless excuse for a mage nearly got himself flattened by a few rocks, so I did.” He threw a staff Anders’ way, but it was Fenris who caught it deftly. “You can thank me later. Shouldn’t you be inside shagging like nugs anyway?”

“Does everyone know?”

“Even Merrill and Aveline noticed it on their own – Andraste’s tits, I’m sure even _Sandal_ has figured it out. Again, why are we having this conversation?” He lifted two massive hands, palms up as if to weigh the scales, moving them up and down. “Talk to Hawke. Shag like nugs. Talk to Hawke. Shag like nugs. Is there even a question? You’re both touched in the head, aren’t you?”

Fenris was the first to cross the short distance between them to give Hawke a short but fierce one armed hug. Hawke’s oh-so-brilliant plan had backfired spectacularly – Fenris would have confessed his feelings to Anders already if not for the oaf’s well-meaning meddling – but it eased something in the elf’s heart to know that Anders truly must love him if everyone else had noticed it. Anders came over too and repeated the gesture.

“Just so you know, you’re an idiot. Pull something like that again and I’ll shoot lightning into your arse and out of your eyeballs. And not the pleasant kind.” A smile. “But thank you.”

Fingers entwined with his and a radiant smile shone through exhausted eyes.

“All my adrenaline seems to have run out, I’m not sure if I’ll manage any of this shagging like nugs business tonight, love. I was hoping to charm my way into your bed regardless.”

“Have a care, mage, you might not be able to charm your way out of it so easily.”

“Oh, I hope that’s a promise!”

And they made their way to his door, Hawke still smiling as if he’d actually _helped_ , the idiot, and Anders didn’t seem to have enough energy left for even a kiss now that the last few days had finally caught up with him, but it was _perfect_. What was it Anders had mentioned? Stupid romantic ideas? In a flight of fancy he picked up the healer and carried him through his threshold, bridal style – Anders was _his_ , and he would have the whole of Thedas know it.

**Author's Note:**

> Original kink meme prompt (from which, as you can see, I deviated a bit):
> 
>  
> 
> _Yup, clichéd prompt is clichéd. But what a cliché it is! ;)_
> 
>  
> 
> _So, you know how it goes. Anders is believed dead/almost dies in a battle/is seriously injured/goes missing/whatever else you fancy. Somebody is more affected by this than they thought they would. They realize they've been harboring feelings for him for quite some time, Anders is found alive, they kiss him stupid. Bonus points if in front of the whole party._
> 
>  
> 
> _Happy ending (as in, Anders reciprocates), please? And also, no rivalmance with Hawke. I'm fine with other rivals, and I'm fine with a friendmanced Hawke, but rivalmance + Hawke is a no._
> 
>  
> 
> _Rare pairings encouraged, though the usual suspects are welcome, too!_


End file.
